Dealing with a De-Aged Dark Lord
by m a q u i r a
Summary: During the Final Battle, the killing curse Voldemort shoots at Harry backfires… turning Voldemort back into his fifteen-year-old self. As the Wizarding World tears itself apart trying to decide what to do with him, Tom attempts to figure out who he really is, and why certain, sketchy people who call him "My Lord" are trying to reach out him…


"Young Riddle… wake up…"

A low voice muttered, "Or don't. Don't wake up at all. It would make everything _so much easier - _"

"Mr. Weasley!" the same stern, matronly voice reprimanded. "If I recall, you only got permission to come here and visit _Ms. Granger _."

At the sounds of shooing away and reluctant grumbling, Tom blearily blinked awake, his sharp gray eyes immediately recognizing his familiar surroundings: the Hogwarts infirmary.

He pursed his lips in annoyance, glancing up at the pristine, white ceiling. It figured he'd end up here again so soon. It must have been those older Slytherin boys again, the ones who'd taunted him for being _Slytherin's latest mudblood _only last week.

Tom rubbed his eyes again and sat up, not one to linger in bed once he'd woken -

And he fell back, cringing at the pain that wreaked through his sternum, crawling all over his chest. His breathing grew harsh and Tom was only vaguely aware of the cool fingers that pried his jaw open and dunked a vial of some chillingly cold substance down his throat.

"Careful there, Mr. Riddle. You've suffered a great deal of damage to your lungs and digestive system due to a lack of consistent diet and magical over-use."

_Minimal diet? _Once the woman had turned away from him, Tom narrowed his eyes in disbelief. He'd been at Hogwarts for months now; any traces of malnutrition from his last summer at the orphanage had long since been eradicated.

And overusing magic? Tom scoffed. That certainly had never been an issue for him.

Still, he submitted to the medical check ups like the well-behaved student he was. He slid his glance repeatedly over the non-distinctive, slightly plump, gray-haired woman, his eyes narrowing contemplatively because she _seemed _familiar but he'd never seen her here before…

"Madam," he began, "I've been frequenting the Hogwarts infirmary very much as of late and don't recognize you." Tom didn't miss the sharp glance she shot his way, strangely unfathomable save for some hint of… fear?

"Oh, don't worry about me," she replied vaguely, her tone bordering on terse and abrupt. "Just focus on getting better." With that, she turned sharply on her heel and left the room, leaving him alone in the infirmary.

Tom tilted his head curiously.

Something had been very odd about her…

But no matter. He had things to do, books and family trees to read. Tom was on the verge of finding his ancestors, his connection to _Wizarding _blood, and once he did…

Invigorated and ready to leave, Tom instinctively felt under his pillow for his wand. When his hand came out empty, he sat up quickly, scanning the bedside table for his wand.

Nothing. Tom stilled, narrowing his eyes.

A sense of strangeness and foreboding once again filled him. Something about this whole situation wasn't right.

_How had Tom been sent here again?_

He glanced over his surroundings, taking in the other curtained-off beds in the room, the cabinets opening by themselves as potions flew out of them, the self-sweeping brooms making their way across the entrance.

And then he realized how eerily quiet it was. Nothing, not even a murmur or a rustle of sheets, could be heard.

Hadn't the nurse mentioned other patients in the same ward?

Tom's eyes stopped at the sink nearest to his bed. The tap had not been fully closed, and the only sound in the room was the steady, echoing splatter of water droplets.

_Drip… drip… drip…_

It grated on his nerves. A compulsive desire to cease the dripping overtook him, and Tom rose to his feet slowly, making his way to the sink and closing the tap.

Then he walked a few steps forward, intent on finding that nurse from before and asking _where on earth she'd kept his wand -_

He screeched to a stop.

Noise hit him like a brick wall. The chatter in the air, the rustling of the broomsticks, the clink of vials…

Tom turned his head back in the direction of where he'd come from. A silencing ward had been placed upon his area, he realized, and with that dawning realization came a whirlwind of _questions and accusations and -_

His build-up of his paranoia was _evanascoed _by the sound of arguing voices echoing down the hallways outside, reaching Tom's ears and growing louder with every passing second. No, not necessarily arguing voices - one was placating the other -

"… NOT going to just let him back into Hogwarts! He's going to have a proper trial and deal with the -"

"The consequences of what he's done? Even if he can't remember it? Harry, he's a different person now -" It was that placating voice again. Something tugged at Tom when he heard the voice… a rather annoying voice, now that he thought about it…

"This isn't some _time travel _scenario where you can just claim 'Oh look, the poor sod hasn't _done anything yet _! Let's give him a chance to grow up differently!' and let him get away. The fact of the matter is that this exact individual _has _done it and he _can _do it again if given the facilities!"

"Harry -"

"And what if the spell is somehow reversed? He gets his old body and mind back - then what?"

"_ Well, _" a new, snarky voice cut in, " _Perhaps _you should have been thinking about all this right after the spell had rebounded, instead of instantly defending what seemed like a harmless child from the masses out for his blood."

"I wasn't thinking -"

"Clearly, Potter. Since when have you _ever _-"

"I was also dealing with the aftershocks of surviving yet another killing curse! Done that before, Snape? If you ever do, _let me know_… oh, wait_…"_

That annoyingly placating voice again. "_ Professor _Snape, Harry… And we must try to understand the situation from Tom's perspective…"

Tom blinked at the usage of his name.

The three people to whom the voices belonged rounded the corner and entered the Infirmary, by which point Tom had crept forward to stand against the counter and shamelessly eavesdrop, knowing it was fully within his rights if they were talking about _him _. Their eyes scanned the infirmary, heads coming to a stop when they saw Tom.

A green-eyed man with unruly black hair met his eyes first. Dead shadows under his eyes marred otherwise pale skin, though his eyes themselves sparkled with energy and anger. _Potter, _Tom surmised, before sliding his eyes over a sneering, oily-haired man with menacing, dark eyes.

To his side stood a man who radiated magical power despite looking a good one hundred and thirty years old. Glasses perched upon his crooked nose, and hidden behind those glasses were blue eyes that seemed prone to twinkling in good will… but now held nothing but a somber, serious look as he headed towards Tom.

"Tom. I would say it's good to see awake but… there is much to be discussed." His blue eyes bore into Tom's, that annoying voice seeming to strike a chord in him…

_Flashbacks of a burning wardrobe. _Tom shivered in shock, suddenly realizing why the man in front of him was so familiar. _No way. _He glanced over the man's white beard and eye wrinkles, disbelief warring with the utter certainty that filled him when he noted the man's cool, blue eyes.

He met his professor's gaze head-on, not daring to show the child-like fear he harbored when with the man.

"I don't know what potions you've taken, but I must say… age certainly does not suit you, Professor Dumbledore." Tom smirked playfully to take away the edge from his risky, disrespectful comment. Not that he cared about insulting him. They had quite the history.

He then turned to the young man, quirking an eyebrow. "And… forgive me if I heard incorrectly," he hadn't, of course, "but… surviving the killing curse? Rather impressive, _Harry _. Would you mind elaborating?"

The boy - his name _was _Harry, just as he'd guessed - turned those jade green gems to him, shaking violently, rudely refusing to answer Tom's question.

_Shame, he'd asked so nicely too _.

"He _knows._" Harry's voice shook. "How does he_ bloody_ _know? _He _remembers_ -"

"Relax, Potter." The sneering man continued to face Tom, "The boy was clearly eavesdropping on us as we were walking and heard our names, no doubt because of how_loud _you were. It's what any young Slytherin would do." Tom noticed that the man, despite defending him from unfathomable accusations, refused to make direct eye contact with him.

"I'm pretty sure I heard all of you quite clearly. For instance, masses after my blood? Do explain… _Professor Snape."_

Tom didn't miss the way Snape twitched when he called him by his name, or the way Dumbledore and Harry glanced sideways at each other. They knew something, something he did not, and Tom _hated _being kept in the dark. He clenched his palms at his side, willing himself to remain rational, calm. _Think._

_Who were these people? And since when had this "Snape" individual been a professor?_

"Enough." Dumbledore's quiet voice was enough to stop all the noise in a room. Tom _hated it, _hated the way everyone listened to him so _blindly _.

"Tom, you've been in an accident. One that caused you to de-age, reverting you back to your physically - and mentally - fifteen-year-old self."

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to explain more, his mouth opening - but then he abruptly closed it, his eyes shuttering resolutely as if to suggest that _nothing more would be said on the matter._

Well, that wouldn't do. Because now more than ever, Tom was burning with questions. He looked down at his hands, the same hands he'd always had, feeling like he hadn't lived a day over fifteen.

He had to _know. Everything._

"How did this happen? Are you trying to restore me to my older form?" His eyes narrowed contemplatively. "What year is it? Why was there a silencing -"

"One at a time, child." Dumbledore chuckled heartily, though Tom could view the action as nothing but degrading, treating him like a child who didn't know better…

And it incensed him. Something dark must have passed through his eyes, because Dumbledore caught on and narrowed his eyes.

Dumbledore _always _caught on to him.

"You shot a spell at someone, and it rebounded."

Tom's eyes lit up hungrily. "_ What _spell?"

Dumbledore hesitated, and Tom saw Harry, who had been leaning against the wall and listening in, straighten up. He kept his narrowed, scrutinizing eyes on Tom, and with a brief tingle of alarm, Tom realized that Harry had been watching him like a hawk the whole time.

"No more hiding information, _Professor. _Keeping things from people has only caused pain in the past - if you don't tell him, _I will. _"

Tom appraised Harry again, this time with a sense of approval. Perhaps Harry was the decent sort… it was good to see that Dumbledore's manipulative ways had finally been exposed in the future…

The future. But before Tom could ask what exactly the future _was, _Harry had started talking.

"The killing curse. You shot the killing curse at me, but it rebounded and should have killed you."

_An Unforgivable._

Tom's eyebrows shot up, though nothing had really come close to surprising him after the whole de-aging scenario. "Should it have killed_ me_? Why should it have _rebounded _in the first place?"

_And why did I cast it on you in the first place, Harry?_

Tom swallowed uncomfortably. _And what kind of man am I, to be shooting killing curses?_

Vaguely, memories of his eleven-year-old self visiting Ollivander's came to mind…

_"This wand will bring you greatness," the man said after a long moment of silence, turning those creepy eyes upon him. Sneering, Tom had taken the wand into his hand and swept out of the shop, still feeling the burning gaze on his back…_

_Greatness. _It was the only word that came to Tom's mind whenever he thought about his future. But he'd never dared to imagine what _kind _of greatness -

"Long story." Harry sighed, raked a hand through his hair, making it even messier. "Basically, I held a portion of your soul so killing me was like killing a part of yourself." He shot Tom a wan look, "Obviously, you didn't kill yourself, so I don't know what exactly happened to that piece of soul."

Tom let that sink in for a moment.

"_ Harry!" _hissed Snape. Behind him, Dumbledore seemed to have grown troubled as well.

"Harry, perhaps telling him all the details - "

But the green-eyed man wasn't listening. Instead, a focused look passed over Harry before he closed his eyes.

He hissed, "_ Harry James Potter."_

Tom's eyes widened as he gripped the counter behind him. The boy was speaking _parseltongue! _For once, he didn't have control over his mouth.

"Are we related?" But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tom was flushing as he heard Snape snort.

Potter rolled his eyes. "No, we are _not. _But we are tied magically."

_Tied magically… because they share parts of a soul._

And idea popped up in his head, so ridiculous and repulsive that Tom tried to fight back asking it… but curiosity got the better of him. He tilted his head questioningly.

"We're not… soul mates, are we?" Soul mates were a pretty rare thing in themselves, and killing one's soul mate often resulted in mentally damaging the other but_maybe…_

Harry positively spluttered. "_ NO! God, no. _No we're not soul-mates. Good Lord." By this point, Harry was pulling at his hair as he ran his hands through it, while Snape was openly laughing. _Strange, _because he didn't seem the type to laugh… except at someone else's expense, of course. Tom knew a Slytherin when he saw one.

Dumbledore had been watching the proceedings quietly, that troubled look still on his face.

Tom was not distracted by any of the foolishness, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

"Then, why does Harry hold a piece of my soul - ?"

"Enough, Tom." Dumbledore interrupted. "Get some rest and we'll explain what will happen later. You have a Wizengamot trial next week for throwing the killing curse, so you'd best rest up for the excitement ahead."

A _trial, _for a crime he had no memory of committing. Tom exhaled, a whispering, hysterical laughter escaping him in disbelief.

The wizards got up to leave, but he even wasn't even close satisfied. He pushed off the counter and walked forward, putting himself at the entrance of the infirmary.

"One moment. You haven't even told me what year it is! Or…" _what you're going to do with me, " _whether you're trying to restore me."

"_ Restore you… _gracious, no," Harry snorted.

Snape answered his question, "The year is 1998." Tom's eyes widened, but only slightly. That meant he would have been… _seventy-one years old. Close to dying._

In that case, Tom pursed his lips, he would rather not be turned back at all. He looked and felt _fifteen, _he had his whole life to live. To suddenly wake up and find out he was an old man… it was a thing of nightmares.

Tom looked up, finding the other wizards staring at him, as if to gage his expression, his reaction. Something, Tom realized, they'd been doing the entire time. But when he read their expressions back, he couldn't glean anything, anything at all except for…

_Wariness. Fear. _The same way that nurse had looked at Tom.

As soon the wizards were out of the infirmary, Tom's polite smile slipped away, his eyes once again cold and calculating.

Just who _was _Tom in the future?


End file.
